Bond of Circumstance
by Annalisse Rubisher
Summary: After an epiphany, of a sort, Draco turns from the Hogwarts Express and walks to Dumbledore's office, pleading for Sanctuary. However, due to the recent breach of security during the Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts wouldn't be the safest place for him, his father being Lord Voldemort's right-hand man. Eventual DMHP slash, child abuse, and violence.
1. Prologue

**Title**: Bond of Circumstance

**Beta**: CleopatraIsMyName

**Rating**: T/PG-13 (Rating subject to change)

**Challenge**: This was a challenge previously posted by Sloan33 on the HP forums. I have decided to take it on! ^~^

**Disclaimer**: This work of fiction is in no way connected to the author of Harry Potter, JK Rowling. Harry Potter is owned by her, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Warning(s)**: WIP. DMHP slash, depictions of child abuse, bonded mates, gore, romance, fluff, angst, torture, slash, etc.

**Pairings**: Harry/Draco (any others will be added as the story progresses)

**Summary**: After an epiphany, of a sort, Draco turns from the Hogwarts Express and walks to Dumbledore's office, pleading for Sanctuary. However, due to the recent breach of security during the Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts wouldn't be the safest place for him, his father being Lord Voldemort's right-hand man.

**Prologue**

Albus looked up when his wards detected a presence near his office.

"Odd," he thought to himself. The last of the children should've already boarded the Hogwarts Express. Especially after the previous events taken place after the last round of the TriWizard Tournament, the maze. With Voldemort having risen again, special precautions had been taken during the boarding process.

He stood up slowly, after having been sitting for so long, and closed his eyes.

As he reached inside the wards, he felt a breeze of his magic float underneath the doorway.

Seeing, by way of magic, was always an awe-inspiring sensation; and, like always, he felt himself soar up, until he was magic to face with the incoming intruder.

"Mister Malfoy?" he thought, before slipping back into his body. He sat back down, quickly, then when he felt the teen raise his hand up to the door, yelled, "Come in, Mister Malfoy."

He could feel the boy's hesitancy. Several seconds passed before he relinquished his hold on the wards. Moments after doing so, the young Malfoy heir opened the door, and stepped into the room.

He looked very nervous, his usual mask of bravado and superiority tucked away, somewhere. The boy fidgeted, before taking a seat in front of Albus' desk, wiping his sweaty palms on the front of his trousers.

The bearded old wizard laced his fingers together on his desk, then smiled at the boy. Motioning towards his supply of candy, he offered, "Lemon drop, Mister Malfoy?"

And for the first time in a while, a student nodded his head, and took up the proffered candy. It probably helped that Albus knew, that the flaxen-haired teen knew, that the hard candies were laced with a small Calming Draught.

As the boy sucked on the candy, Albus leaned forward, "What do you need, Mister Malfoy?"

Draco took a deep, shuttering, breath and said, "Sanctuary."

Several minutes passed by, and Albus picked up his wand, casting a Patronus. A silvery-mist form of Fawkes was ordered to call for Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, and Sirius Black. With a small dose of Veritaserum.

And that is the story of how Draco Malfoy came to be the newest resident and temporary lodger of Number 4, Privet Drive.


	2. A Look into Past Events

**Bond of Circumstance**

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**Warning**(**s**): Draco's POV

**Beta**: CleopatraIsMyName

* * *

**Bond One**

**A Look into Past Events**

* * *

It hadn't just been that single epiphany of a life spent in virtual slavery, kissing the boots of the evilest man he'd ever get the chance to see. Draco had also been thinking over the mortifying degradation that he had been suffering over the past few years.

Although he would never readily admit to his failures, he did know power when he saw it. Being a Malfoy _did_ have its perks, after all. He just hadn't been able to recognize it in Potter before... before that day at the tournament; when Potter had disappeared, and Draco's stomach had done a back-flip.

He was lucky that he was able to keep his customary mask on, at that moment, but he couldn't help but be just the slightest bit worried on what this turn of events would cause. The ripple effect, as it was.

Then, later confronting Potter, and insulting the Hufflepuff... he had felt that power. That immense aura of magic that caused the air to tremble, the leaves to shake, and Draco's heartbeat to quicken, adrenaline rushing through his veins.

The power that Potter had, somehow, tapped into; his fury, having brought it on. Draco was almost glad that he had ended up having taken a hit.

Almost.

Now, here he was... hesitating over whether or not to walk to the old codger's office. He did have a home to go to, but his future there was looking bleaker by every passing second.

Taking a deep breath, Draco did a bunk and sidled into the bathroom.

"Draco?" he heard being called. It was _just_ his luck that his friends had noticed his absence. Usually, they just ignored him unless it was absolutely necessary. There was Pansy, who kept up her romantic front, clinging to him at every moment.

Crabbe and Goyle were full believers in the colossal power of the Dark Lord, agreeing with any of the shite he spouted about the mudbloods and Potter, especially.

Don't even get him started on Blaise. The teen may very well be loyal to an extent, but that wasn't the true nature of a Slytherin. Cunning... ambition... sneakiness... All just ways that spelt power-hungry. Because, face it, who didn't want a life of luxury? To be comfortable?

But all the Slytherins knew that they had to work hard, make connections, and use their wits. Otherwise, how does one acquire power?

Keeping an ear out, just in case his two mates came his way, Draco walked into a stall, concealing himself using a Charm.

A few moments later, the platinum blond cast a Tempus, checking the time. 'Great,' he thought. The time shown as half past ten. 'More than enough time to make my way towards Dumbledore's office.'

Checking he had all his belongings with him, and the extra Galleons he kept on-hand, he slowly lowered himself from the toilet seat he'd been standing on, still listening for his two friends.

When he felt that the coast was clear, he cast a quick _Finite_ and walked out of the stall, staring into the mirror.

'Should I do this?' he asked himself, fixing his appearance. Nodding his head, he assured himself that this was the only way he would live through this bloody war. Because that's what this would be, soon enough: a war. Another Voldemort War based on politics and blood.

Then, he questioned how he should walk into the office. Should he use a particular mask, or should he offer something in return?

Taking a deep, slow breath, he exhaled just as steadily. Dumbledore was a Gryffindor, if the way he coddled that particular House was any sign. So, he would fight fire with fire; or, as the situation calls for, Gryffindor sympathy with Gryffindor recklessness.

Taking up his bag, and checking he still had everything, the blond wizard cast the Tempus, again. 'Fourteen past eleven,' he sighed, then straightened his shoulders, striding towards the door.

As he walked down the labyrinth, he noted that the halls felt strangely empty, as if the magic was saving its energy for the next term. And it didn't really make any sense, this odd observation. The portraits were still moving, the staircases were probably still switching around, and the house elves were still cleaning.

But the desolateness was just too much for the young Slytherin, so he hastened his pace, regarding everything with an inquisitive gaze. The raised ceiling, the gothic portrait frames, the wizards and witches from centuries before, situated in said portraits, and the clothing: kilts, dresses, armour, robes, et cetera.

He had never taken the time to properly admire the castle, its age, and the people that had trained here... and to think that a select group of dark wizards and witches may try and destroy such history... And the thought that Draco may have almost been a part of that madness, that chaos, the struggle. It made him sick with guilt. But, he also felt a small burst pride in his change.

Before he knew it, he stood before the Gargoyles, and the office. Thinking back to what he had heard, Draco took a list out of his bag. 'Hmm...' he thought to himself. 'What have I seen the Headmaster eating, recently?'

Casting a quick spell on the piece of parchment, Draco looked over the entire list of candy sold in Honeydukes, along with his little check marks, denoting the ones he'd seen the Headmaster happily munching on during this term.

After all, every Slytherin needed a back-up for times such as these.

Acid Pops ✘

Bat's Blood Soup ✘

Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans ✓

Blood-flavoured lollipops ✓ (off his rocker)

Cauldron Cakes ✓

Charm Choc ✘

Chocoballs ✓

Chocolate Cauldrons (Severus, ironically, hates them)

Chocolate Frogs ✓

Chocolate Skeletons ✘

Chocolate Wands ✘

Choco-Loco ✘

Crystallised pineapple ✓

Drooble's Best Blowing Gum (maybe in private?)

Exploding bonbons ✘

Fizzing Whizzbees ✓

Fudge Flies ✘

Glacial Snow Flakes ✓

Honeydukes Best Chocolate ✓

Honeydukes Mice Pops ✓

Ice Mice ✘

Jelly Slugs ✓

Liquorice Wands ✓

No-Melt Ice cream ✘

Nougat Chunks (never seen these before)

Pepper Imps (what is this?)

Peppermint Toad (sounds revoltingly refreshing)

Pink Coconut Ice ✘ (good riddance; looks weird)

Pixie Puffs ✘

Pumpkin fizz ✘

Pumpkin Pasties ✓

Salt Water Taffy ✓

Shock-o-Choc ✘

Skeletal Sweets ✘

Spindle's Lick'O'Rish Spiders ✘ (be funny to give these to the Weasel, one day)

Sugar Quills ✓

Sugared Butterfly Wings ✓

Toffees ✓

Toothflossing Stringmints ✓

Tooth-Splintering Strongmints ✘

Treacle fudge ✓

Wizochoc ✘

Squinting at his list, Draco stated, "Peppermint Toad." The entrance opened, with a groan, revealing a winding staircase, and Draco grunted in distaste at the thought of walking up those steps. Muttering darkly under his breath, Draco calmly dropped most of his shields, except a few guarding his feelings and secrets, and marched up the steps.

When he got close to the door, he could sense the wards, and the Headmaster's magic rising up to meet his eyes. Not flinching, and acting as if he hadn't just felt that, he hesitated. Did he really want to sacrifice his home? The only family he'd ever known? What if he still lost?

'Then I'll have been a fool, but I don't believe this to be the case. Every failure these past few years has been of my own making - and, I daresay, well-deserving - making the past me a failure. However, I am making the right decision, now.'

Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand to knock on the huge door, but was intercepted by a, "Come in, Mister Malfoy." He opened up the door, and took a long look around. The entire office was a complete mess, knick-knacks and precious artefacts scattered throughout.

Trying to keep his thoughts centred on the task at hand, Draco tried not to look too "at awe" concerning the office, itself. Looking at Dumbledore, he noted the pensive expression, the surprise on his face. He hadn't been expecting him, Draco Malfoy, to come to his office.

Acting his part, Draco fidgeted restlessly, allowing his nervous to shine through. Taking a seat in front of the man's desk, Draco wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on the front of his trousers, looking up at the man. Locking eyes, he felt a presence push at his mind, and allowed his thoughts to be brought to the fore-front.

Taking a deep breath, he slumped into the chair, allowing himself to become comfortable, for the mean time. Dumbledore threaded his fingers together, and then motioned toward his jar of hard sweets.

"Lemon drop?" he offered, smiling kindly at Draco. The Slytherin nodded, recalling one of his father's old lessons, and odd pieces of advice.

'_If that scheming, old man offers you one of his Lemon Drops, graciously turn it down. He has them laced with a small Calming Drought; just enough to make you relax in his presence, and sacrifice your secrets.'_

Dumbledore seemed stunned by his acceptance of the proffered candy, but; nevertheless, pleased by it. It showed the Slytherin's willingness for vulnerability, in such a special situation.

The bearded wizard stood up slowly, on account of his old age, and walked around the desk, then leaned forward towards Draco. "What do you need, Mister Malfoy?"

Draco took a deep, shaky breath, and answered, "Sanctuary."

Dumbledore seemed to be gauging Draco's honesty, moving his eyes from one part of his face to the other. With a bob of his head, a motion of ascent, the older man picked up his wand, and cast a Patronus. The silver-mist image of his familiar blew out of his wand, and he ordered it to bring up Professor McGonagall, Snape – with a vial of Veritaserum – and Sirius Black.

Blanching at the last name, Draco looked up at the old coot as if he was off his trolley. The man smiled, and then said, "He was innocent."

Recalling the tale of his betrayal of the Potters, the blond teen decided he would take the older wizard's word on it. Not everything he had heard was true, after all.

Dumbledore looked at Draco soberly, and then said, "You do understand what you will have to do, Mister Malfoy?"

Bobbing his head, Draco chewed on the fragile Lemon Drop in his mouth, swallowing reflexively. "Yes, you will give me Veritaserum and I will have to tell you anything regarding my position in the up-coming war, about my family, why I am here, and how trustworthy I will be."

Dumbledore nodded his head, face expressing his sadness and sympathy at the state of affairs the youth had been placed in.

Several moments passed, and a knock was heard at the door. "Come in Severus, Minerva." Draco raised his head from the finger nails he was currently inspecting, and met the gaze of his godfather. The man's eyes held a flicker of pride, before he turned away towards the Headmaster, holding the vial of liquid.

Professor McGonagall's face was soft, although it still held her trademark sternness, lips still pursed. She placed a hand on the young heir's shoulder, a sign of comfort.

The last, Sirius Black, came in through the Floo. After seeing his visage everywhere, during third-year, Draco could still identify him. He looked at Draco, and then pierced Dumbledore with a gaze of anger. "How can you be sure that the Malfoy brat won't turn us in, the moment the chance arises?"

Flinching, Draco didn't say anything to his defence. He had tormented Potter for the past few years; that, coupled with the other teen's temper, was enough for Draco to know that he probably deserved a bit of his outrage. Okay, maybe a lot. Most of it, really.

Dumbledore just said, "I believe Mister Malfoy can speak for himself, don't you agree?"

Black harrumphed, the turned his head towards Draco. "So, what're you doing here?"

"Joining the winning side," Draco calmly stated, hands folded in his lap.

The man scoffed at Draco's reply.

Stepping forward, Snape looked at Dumbledore, but not before glaring daggers at Black. "I have the Veritaserum you requested, Headmaster," he said.

Dumbledore nodded his head, "Administer two drops." Bobbing his head at the order, Snape walked towards Draco, and then leaned forward, uncorking the bottle.

The teen opened his mouth obligingly, feeling the man's cold hands tilt his chin up. Two drops carefully landed on his tongue, and Draco swallowed. The effects were near-instantaneous. He felt detached from entire scene, a lightness of head he'd never experienced before.

"What is your name?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy."

"When is your birthday?"

"The fifth of June, 1980." Nodding his head, Snape stepped aside for McGonagall, who would be doing the questioning.

Draco felt like he was witnessing the interrogation outside, not the one being questioned. It was a strange experience, and he hoped to never be subjected to it again. The questions were all standard, asking about his home life, his parents, and their role in the war.

Draco answered, in a monotone voice, about how he had been spoiled by his parents. About how, when he was about eight, his mother and father had taken him aside, and told him about the First Voldemort War, and how they had been on the Dark Lord's side. About their hopes of a clean, pure future; one where the Muggle-born were non-existent and the pure-bloods ruled with an iron fist.

As the questions got to the more recent events, Draco told them about his father telling him to simply 'lie low', in second-year. About the lessons he'd learned about the Dark Arts, and torture, over the years. And about how he'd finally realised he needn't learn such meaningless things, when he was probably going to end up dead, on the wrong side of the war.

When they were all satisfied, including Black, Draco was given the antidote. "So," Draco said, still recovering from the effects of the administered truth serum. "What's going to happen to me?"

"We will be settling you at a place where no one would suspect your presence, Mister Malfoy." Dumbledore responded, a twinkle bright in his eyes. Draco had almost forgotten how aggravatingly vague the wizard could be.

Almost.

Nodding, Draco stood up, stretching his arms over his head. Following the older man to the Floo fireplace, he was given a handful of the black powder from a small sack placed strategically atop of the mantle. "Just call out, 'Wisteria Walk'."

Draco breathed deeply, shrugged his bag onto his shoulder, and did as the wizard said, throwing in the Floo powder, and calling out the address. He walked out in a burst of smoke, looking around the small drawing room. Dumbledore came in a beat later, humming a song under his breath.

Draco ignored him, and asked, "Where are we?"

"Near where you will be staying. This is just a short stop."

Rolling his eyes in disbelief, Draco followed Dumbledore out to the living room.

'The house,' Draco decided, 'smells like old cabbage and cats.' Massaging the bridge of his nose, Draco focused on breathing through his mouth. He was led outside, and saw dozens of other similarly designed house lining the road and walkways.

He rubbed his face with a hand; now realising he was in a Muggle neighbourhood. 'He better know what he's doing.' Draco sneered, quickening his pace. Dumbledore was already halfway down the street, walking towards another house.

Though they all looked the same, they also had some distinct differences. This one, for example, had a vegetable and flower garden out front. As they neared the door, upon closer inspection, the plaque read, "Number 4 Privet Drive." As the blond memorised the address, the older wizard raised his fist and knocked on the door.

A few seconds later, a deep male voice called, "I'll get it, Mum!" The brown-painted door opened up swiftly, and a rather pudgy, older teen stood in the entrance. Draco ground his teeth together at his expression of disgust, fingers itching to wipe the look off of his pig-face.

A clearing of Dumbledore's throat, along with a pointed look at Draco's carefully blank face, ruined those plans. "Hello, Dudley. May I speak with your parents?"

The brunet looked back and yelled, "Mum, there's two oddly dressed men here for you! I think it may have something to do with the freak!"

Blinking, Draco simply thought, 'Freak?'

The teen walked away when a slim woman took his place in front of the two wizards. "What is it?" she rudely questioned, a brow arched up in incredulousness.

"Well," Dumbledore began, "Along with your current charge, Mister Potter, I have Mister Draco Malfoy here, needing a place to say for part of the summer."

Draco and the woman looked at the man in outrage. "I have to stay with Potter's Muggle family?" he cried out, as the woman yelled, "You want me to house another freak?"

Dumbledore just smiled brightly in response, making Draco's eye twitch in irritation. Weren't there rumours that the man had gone completely gormless years ago? Well, it looked like they had a basis in fact.

The woman huffed in irritation, and then beckoned Draco inside of her home. "You owe me, you old codger." Dumbledore just twinkled in reply, leaving without a single glance back. Not that Draco had turned to look and see if he had, not at all.

She looked him over, and asked, "Who are you?"

"Draco Malfoy," he sneered, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"And you're friends with Potter?"

Draco just shook his head, looking at her quizzically. "Why do you c-"

His question was cut off when he heard a grunt upstairs. "What are you doing sitting on the stairs, Potter?"

"None of your business, Dudders!" a voice mocked. Draco bristled in agitation, wishing he hadn't needed to hear it again, after _just_ leaving the school.

Of course, beggars couldn't be choosers. He sighed and uncrossed his arms, "You may as well come down, Potter," the blond called, boredom lacing his tone.

And that's when Potter descended down the stairs, with an expression of pure anger that had taken over his features.

Of course, that was probably Draco's fault.

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**Author's Note**:

I hoped you all enjoyed this_really_ long chapter. Urgh. xD I think I may have switched a few events around, but I think this story is going alright xD

Oh, and I got the complete Honeydukes sweets list from Harry Potter wikia. Meow!

I literally listened to 遠い道の先で for three hours, on repeat. I love that song, but woah. It helped me get the story in a certain mood... D; Never. Again.

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**Acknowledgments**:

Thank you **Odoyle25** and**dracomalfoylover666** for favoriting this story!

Thank you **ladykatye**,**sparkling-stone**, **wdlwbt**,**Odoyle25**, **Liube**, **Niiroya**,**dracomalfoylover666**, **Arpho**,**Ezmerald**, and **kisshufan4ever**for taking the time to add this story to your alerts!

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**Review Responses**:

**CleopatraIsMyName**: Thanks for reading! ^~^


	3. A Glorious Meeting

**Bond of Circumstance**

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**Warning(s)**: Cursing .-.

**Beta**: CleopatraIsMyName

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**Bond Two**

**A Glorious Meeting**

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"Aw, Potty," Draco found himself mock-pouting. "Didn't you miss me?"

"No, you git, of course I didn't," the teen snapped, eyes narrowed in baleful rage. "Now, what in the hell are you doing here?"

"Dumbledore brought me," the blond drawled in boredom, shrugging his bag up higher on his shoulder. "What do you _think_ I'm doing here?"

The stare-down continued for a few minutes, before Potter finally averted his gaze. Draco mentally cheered at his minor win, before the slim woman who had answered the door cleared her throat.

"Okay," she said, eyes narrowing at Potter for a split-second. Draco filed that away for another time, for analysis. "Now, show Malfoy to the guest room, boy."

They both sputtered their own protests, horrified by the thought of being so close to the other, so quickly.

"No buts," she snapped, arms crossed. "Now," she motioned towards the stairs in a, 'Shoo, shoo!' gesture. "Help the boy get settled. And don't let me find you doing anything... strange."

Potter rubbed his head in irritation, and then suddenly made for the stairs. "C'mon, Malfoy. The faster we get this over with, the less time we actually have to spend in each other's company."

"Whatever, Scarhead," the blond rolled his eyes, yet still trailed behind the younger teen.

When they arrived at the top of the stairs, Draco scanned the hallway. There were two doors a few feet from the staircase, and the hallway went down further down the right, where three other doors were.

Potter bypassed the first two doors, and stopped at the first one on the right-side of the hallway.

"Here is the guest room," he opened the door, leaning against the frame. "Aunt Petunia will most likely scold me if I don't stay here, and 'attend' to your 'needs'."

Grunting his disapproval, Draco walked through the door, accidentally on purpose, shoving the raven-haired teen up against it, as he passed him.

Taking off his bag, Draco sprawled on top of the bed, spread-eagled. Sighing out his tension, he realised that the bed wasn't nearly as comfortable as the one he had left behind, never to return again.

He heard the door close with an audible click, then the shuffle of feet a little ways further from the bed. The blond wizard sat up on his elbows, glancing over at the other teen.

Potter was slumped in a chair near the wardrobe, a hand running through his - perpetually dishevelled - raven locks.

"So," Draco cut into the silence, falling back onto the bed with a slight _thud_. "Where is this... place?"

"Dumbledore didn't tell you?" Potter asked.

Draco shook his head, rolling over onto his side.

"You're in southern east England, in Little Whinging, Surrey."

Draco nodded his head, this time, fiddling with the bed-spread.

"Number Four, Privet Drive, to be exact."

Draco sighed, and then crawled higher up on the bed.

"Why are you here, Malfoy?"

Though his reply was muffled, Draco's reply was still audible. "None of your business, Potter."

He stifled his mischievous smile when Potter scowled in agitation at his rude answer.

"I'm trying to be civil, the least you could do is do the same."

"I'd rather not, Potter," Draco drawled. "This isn't about you, as much as my self-preservation. I still don't like you, nor do I enjoy your marvellous company."

Potter stood up, Draco peeked at him. His face was twisted in anger, and irritation. Then, the teen shook his head.

"I don't even know why I bothered," he grumbled, stomping over to the door. "Stupid Ferret..."

Though the memory still, mildly traumatised Draco, it didn't make him flare up with rage. Maybe embarrassment, and definitely humiliation, but he'd pretty much done it to himself. Professor Mad-Eye had been correct to call him a right coward, though being a ferret seemed a bit harsh…

Sitting up, Draco reached over for his bag. When he located the way-ward item, he searched inside for his trunks and things.

One of the many, many perks of being a Malfoy: bypassing the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. Draco was told, at an early age, that the Malfoy family had been bribing Ministry officials for years. One of those many officials just _happened_ to work in the Improper Use of Magic Office. To his own understanding, that certain worker ignored any under-aged magic the blond used.

He got off the bed and placed his trunks next to the wardrobe. Once he had them situated, he stepped back and whispered an _Engorgio_. They immediately grew into their natural size.

The teen knelt in front of both, opening them up with a quick _Alohomora_. After investigating thoroughly, he found that all of his things had survived the Charm.

Realising that he had absolutely no idea what to do, especially since he had annoyed his only actual entertainment, he settled for doing some of his summer Potions work.

Grumbling under his breath about 'Advanced Coursework', and the woes of having the professor as his Godfather, he settled on the floor with his required books, some parchment, a quill pen, and ink.

About an hour, or so, later, as the blond was ensconced in his work, the door squeaked open.

Looking up, he saw Potter standing near the doorway, arms crossed, deliberately staring hard at the windows.

"Care to explain why you have disturbed my peace?" the flaxen-haired teen drawled, finishing the sentence he was working on.

"Aunt Petunia says she wants to know what you prefer."

"What I prefer...?"

"Yes, Malfoy, what you prefer to eat," Potter snapped. "It takes a long time to prepare a meal, especially with an unexpected guest. Now, what do you like?"

"I'm not especially picky," he started, only to get interrupted by Potter's snort. Glaring at him, in annoyance, Draco complained, "Despite what you think, Potter I'm honestly not. I may be spoiled, but I also know when to accept my circumstances. I am a Malfoy, and Malfoys don't whinge when things don't go their way." '_Instead, they do what they can until things _do_ go their way_,' Draco added mentally.

Potter turned to leave, then said, "Fine, but don't throw a fit if I-Aunt Petunia decides that everyone is to eat cold meat and a salad."

Though the slip-up wasn't very noticeable, at all, Draco was able to recognise such things. It didn't make any sense why Potter was the one cooking; after all, Draco had heard the teen was prized and treasured, spoiled more so than Draco had ever been.

But, that was a rumour… And hadn't he berated himself for always believing what he heard as truth? Thinking back on it, Potter had never showed those classic signs that Draco, himself, exhibited. Sure, the sodding prat was self-righteous as all hell, but he hadn't ever whinged like Draco had...

And his head was now hurting. Malfoys don't get headaches. He really needed to stop thinking so much about Potter and his relatives. The events would unfold, soon enough. Why waste his time thinking useless rubbish over, when all he needed to do was observe?

With a nod, Draco set to finishing the rest of his essay up, carefully explaining the differences between the uses and effects of a Girding Potion, and an Invigoration Draught.

When a knocked sounded at the door, several minutes seemed to have passed by without Draco knowing it. Casting a quick _Tempus_, he was bewildered to see that it was already half-past six.

Getting up, he quickly put away his parchments and things, stretching for a few seconds to get rid of all the kinks. When he deemed himself ready, he shed his robes, and opened the door.

The beefy boy from earlier glared him, and then muttered something about the food being ready. Raising a single eyebrow at him, Draco walked past swiftly.

When he was already half-way down the stairs, he heard the door open. A very, very large man was standing there. He had a brown moustache, and double chins. Draco entertained the visual fantasy of him being a whale, or some sort of rare species of walrus.

As he walked down the rest of the flight of stairs, the man went purple in the face from anger. "Who are you?!" he demanded.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," the blond drawled. "Dumbledore dropped me off for the month."

"Why that-" the man sputtered. "Boy, get in here!"

Potter came remarkably fast, as if he were chasing after a Snitch on his broom. "Yes, Uncle Vernon?"

"Is what this boy said, true? Did that old man drop him off?"

Gritting his teeth, Draco tried not to allow any of his usual snark to burst through.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Potter looked down briefly at his feet.

"I already have one freak here, now I have another? What is this, a circus?"

Though Draco had no idea what a circus was, Potter seemed to. His fingers curled up into a fist, though he didn't show any of his usual defiance; instead, he was subservient, answering questions with a 'Yes, sir ' or a 'No, sir.' It was eerie, and slightly upsetting for Draco to see Potter in such a light.

He made no comment to the raven-haired teen as he passed by, oddly quiet. He had no idea what to say after such a scene, and knew it wasn't any of his own business.

So, when he opened his mouth to say what came out of his mouth, next… Well, it surprised even him. "I have the full usage of my wand."

The entire family stopped at that, unknowingly falling into Draco's "trap". In reality, the words that were falling from his lips seemed... incredible, at best.

"What?" Potter whispered.

"I am currently protected from the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, just in case you wanted to know, Potter."

And with that, Draco sat at the table, making a note that Potter settled in a few tense seconds later, on his right. Glancing around, as he got comfortable in the chair, the teen observed the family surrounding him, and Potter. They were in different stages of disbelief. Well, Petunia was. Her husband and their son were glaring hatefully at their food, though it seemed to also be borne from their fright.

And that was when Draco looked down at his plate of food. He was immediately assaulted by the smells of fully-cooked beef, and the familiar mixture of sliced mushrooms and an artfully made sauce. He hadn't noticed it before, having been preoccupied virtually gawking at Potter's odd behaviour.

Picking up his fork and taking a bite, the teen was astonished to realise that Potter had some remarkable talent in the kitchen. Of course, the blond would never let the other teen know of his approval. It just wasn't in his character, and after putting him down for years, it wouldn't settle with his Malfoy pride.

Musing to himself, Draco noted that he usually only ate Spaghetti Bolognese at the Manor, and only on days when his parents were out at dinner parties. He'd mastered the act of whinging his way out of it, ever since he comprehended how wholly mind-numbing they were – no other children ever being at the parties his parents frequented.

The house elves – evermore the prideful, and ancient, creatures he'd grown up with - beamed in pride whenever Draco called on one of them for food, especially the Spaghetti. His enforced Malfoy lessons prevented him from ever giving them some sort of verbal proof of his gratitude, but they always seemed to pick up on it, based on his mannerisms and eagerness. Several decades with Malfoys seemed to have helped them understood the workings underneath the mask.

Now, with a plate of food - made in such a way, that the house elves would be satisfied with it - Draco allowed himself the rare chance to indulge.

No way would the flaxen-haired teen ever let Potter know how much he would certainly enjoy the food, though. Masking his delight, the teen ate as slowly as he could get away with, savouring the flavours on his tongue.

It was definitely something to know that the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, knew his way around a kitchen; a hobby he hadn't thought the raven-haired teen capable of enjoying to its full capacity.

Draco found himself to be slightly disappointed when he realised his food was gone, since surely he could've managed another serving of such delicious spaghetti.

At a loss as to what to do with the plate, since the house elves usually just '_popped'_ in for the dishes, he drank a glass of water.

The teen glanced to his right when he heard a muffled cry of pain. Potter was rubbing his leg, or ankle, with a piteous expression on his face. Petunia, across from him, was looking pointedly towards Draco's direction.

Draco could sense the rolling of Potter's eyes, having been on the other side of his irritation for years, and was relieved when the raven-haired teen took the hint, taking up the blond's plate, along with his own, to the metal thing next to all of the... other metal things.

Shaking his head at the things he didn't know, he stood up. All eyes were on him, and the blond raised an eyebrow at them all.

Petunia's husband waved him off, and he left, though the teen could still feel the eyes on the back of his head.

When he was back up in the guest room, for the second time that day, Draco collapsed on the bed. Thinking he'd rather like to go to sleep, he closed his eyes, arms wrapped around one of the pillows.

The Slytherin grumbled when he heard the brusque knock on his door, and got up to open it.

Potter was standing there, glaring at him. He rubbed his shoulder where the Gryffindor shoved past him, sitting on the bed.

"What?" Draco asked, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"What was that?"

Thinking back on his earlier actions, Draco stared out the window. "What was what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Malfoy," Potter snapped. "Why did you say what you did, downstairs?"

"I don't know," the blond shrugged, still not looking at Potter. "Now that you're done trying to lecture me on my actions, how about that little servant act?"

The raven-haired teen flushed in anger, standing up with a flourish. "Fuck you, you bloody git."

"Shut up, Potty, and get out!"

They glared hatefully at each other, neither willing to back down. The decision of who was going to turn tail first was taken out of their hands when that pig, Dudley, opened the door.

"Oi, Potter," he grumbled. "Dad wants to speak to you."

Potter seemed to pale, swallowing thickly. "Did he say about what?"

"No, freak," Dudley crossed his arms. "Just get downstairs."

With a nod, Potter left the room, back tense, closing the door shut behind him.

Not knowing how to feel about the silence, Draco lay back down on the bed, closing his eyes to go to sleep.

* * *

**Author's Note**:

I made this chapter as long as I could, so I'm sorry it's about 500 words shorter than the last one =/ I hope you guys like Draco, so far, though!

And could you please review with your thoughts? I'd loved to hear what you think about the story!

* * *

**Acknowledgments**:

Thank you **ArrancarMaiden**, **KittyNatBart**, **Lain Marie**, **Matchboxes**, **juventus**, **lovvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvve**, **Anrieth**, **falgunibose**, **ellen neah**, **dieingmage**,**boobear135**, **20eKUraN13**, and **Belldandy55555** for subscribing!

Thank you **KittyNatBart**, **Lain Marie**, **Matchboxes**, **juventus**, **The Dark Lady55,** and **boobear135** for favoriting!

* * *

**Review Responses**:

**KittyNatBart**: Of course I will, silly! The only fic I have trouble on writing is SP, and I've already updated it, this week xD Every Friday, do expect a new update =] If I don't deliver, I give you permission to spam me.


	4. Decisions, Decisions

**Bond of Circumstance**

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**Warning(s)**: None

**Beta**: CleopatraIsMyName

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**Bond Three**

**Decisions, Decisions**

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Draco's dreams were an indefinable mess; so much so, that when he had finally woken up the next morning, he was disoriented. He could vaguely remember smirking faces, and the eerie sound of fleshing pounding flesh. As far as omens came, that was a confusing one.

Staring up at the ceiling, he shook away the dreams, and decided to try and take the time to go over the events of the previous day. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on what he'd seen and heard.

Well, he was going to be living in a Muggle neighbourhood, for the rest of the two months before next school year. All of the houses in this Muggle neighbourhood looked the same, making the young aristocrat question the creativity of said Muggles.

Then, things had gotten weird. Not that he wasn't glad to see Potty - oh, it was just so wonderful - but his relatives were... rather strange. The Boy-Who-Lived's uncle and cousin were gigantic, as if they were half-troll. If Draco wasn't nearly positive they were Muggles, he would think they were. After all, they surely looked like they could be.

Potter's aunt was a stick in comparison, as tiny as she was. Draco wondered, blithely, whether or not Potter's mum looked like her. He'd heard she was a red-head, though…

And the way they treated Potter as if he were abnormal, if the nicknames were anything to go by... Sure, the git was annoying as hell, but not enough to warrant such treatment.

Draco didn't know whether or not he actually cared, though. It's not as if he hadn't enjoyed making the teen's life a living hell at Hogwarts; it was enjoyable, getting so much attention from the enormous prat... ahem, _bullying_ him. There was no need for his _attention_, after all.

Just when he was about to question why Potter's uncle wanted to see him last night, Draco started at the sound of a voice rumbling, "Boy, get your lazy arse down here and make us some breakfast!"

A crash came from the other side of the hallway, along with the creaking of a door, and the blond could hear rapid footfalls getting farther away.

Bemusedly, he stretched, climbed out of the bed, grabbed his wand, and cast a quick _Tempus_. The time shone as half past nine. Taking this as his cue to disrupt the younger teen's morning, the blond aristocrat walked out of the room.

After he cast a few Charms in the loo - ones meant for grooming and hygiene - Draco walked down the stairs.

The kitchen was completely spotless, as well as much of the house. The up-keep was even better than the Manor's, and that was saying something. If Draco held any sort of respect for Muggles, he would be afraid of touching anything. Nevertheless, he still refrained. A clean Muggle was still a Muggle, after all.

Standing there, at the white box with those four black circular things, was Potter looking as terrific as ever. The teen was dressed in rags, again, and his hair was even scruffier than usual. Draco, for the life of him, couldn't seem to recall hearing the raven-haired teen walk into the bathroom.

"Potter," Draco started, leaning against one of the counters. Potter flinched, most likely to do with his sudden appearance. "Why do you look as if you hadn't ever heard of the term, 'shower'?"

"Because I just woke up, you sodding git," the teen answered gruffly, grinding his teeth in irascibility.

"Oh." Draco simply said, examining his nails. Glancing around at the kitchen, Draco sneered to himself at the weird devices and objects.

"Potter..."

"What _is_ it, Malfoy?"

"What are you using to cook the food?"

Looking up from the weird contraption, Potter glanced at Draco sceptically. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm bored and curious. Enlighten me."

"It's a cooker."

Draco nodded his head. "And what is that circular thing you are holding?"

"It's a pan, Malfoy."

"Ban?"

"No, a _pan_."

"You done with that food, yet?!"

Potter froze at the unexpected bellow from the living room, and then replied, voice saturated with honey, "No, Uncle Vernon!"

"Then stop chattering with that blond freak and finish!"

Harry grumbled under his breath, shooting Draco a scathing glare. After a few minutes of verbally prodding the Git-Who-Lived, the Slytherin sat at the table, silently incensed at the gall of both Potter and the whale-like Muggle. He was a Malfoy, dammit.

Breakfast was even tenser than yesterday's dinner, made more so by the fact that Potter was avoiding his gaze at all costs.

After that, Draco stayed upstairs for a good portion of the day, only coming downstairs to eat the delicious food that Potter cooked time and time, again.

Three days of this same routine, along with an unforeseen heat wave, and Draco had completed all of his summer work. Potions had been the easiest, even if he got more advanced work on the sly, and Herbology quickly followed.

Transfiguration was his weakest subject, by far. McGonagall, try as she might to not favour her House, did it anyway. It was harder to go to her for help with work than it was Professor Flitwick.

After struggling over the theory, Draco finished the morning by lying in bed, sprawled out gracefully over the covers.

Sleep came easily to him, even as sweltering as he was, and he lightly dozed for the better part of noon. Deciding to forego lunch, the Slytherin stayed in bed until he started to feel antsy.

Feeling in the mood for wandering about outdoors, Draco jumped out of the bed and looked for his shoes. Finding them inside one of his trunks, he put them on with quite a bit of force - certainly, more so than was required for such a menial task - and trudged out of the room, down the staircase, and sighed in relief when he was out of the stifling house.

The air was refreshing, if not tainted by the bitter smell of petrol. The blond strolled out of the house's front yard, and around the streets.

Masking his tension and how unsettled he was in such an odd setting, Draco focussed on putting one foot in front of the other.

Glancing around, he realized how dull the place he was currently staying at was. The only noticeable sounds were those of an untamed beast, and that came from the Muggle transportation thingamajiggies. The birds were singing unknown melodies, and the occasional insect buzzed.

Not paying any specific attention to his surroundings, Draco was understandably surprised when he came upon a small playground. Grinning to himself, he remembered the one time he had visited, and subsequently played at, a Muggle playground.

He had been visiting the Hollingberry clan. One of his playmates, when he had been younger, was their youngest daughter, Flora.

One day Flora's older sister, Jemima, had taken them to a playground, similar to this one. Unknowing of how his parents would take it, Draco had climbed up on one of the swings, and had been pushed back-and-forth.

He had promised to never tell his parents where he had been, with his cheeks flushed from the wind, dirt on his knees.

Revelling in nostalgia, Draco swung back and forth for a good half-hour. Casting another _Tempus_, he noticed it was well-past noon, and jumped off the swing.

Pleasantly cooled down from the activity, Draco turned around and hastened for the house.

When he got there, he noticed Potter working over some of the plants. Stopping a few feet away from the raven-haired teen, Draco observed him quietly.

Potter was sweating profusely and continually wiped at his brow. Draco cast a glance at the plants, and noticed various purples and oranges beneath the sun. A few moments later, and the other wizard stood up straight and stretched, grunting faintly at the kinks.

Draco's eyes certainly didn't lock onto the tanned flesh that was uncovered by the large shirt, not at all.

The blond then walked back into the house, and stayed upstairs for the majority of the evening.

Taking out his Herbology textbook for review, Draco read through it, and groaned in frustration. He would have to ask Potter about the flowers, and the blond teen didn't want to. Lying back on the bed, he closed his eyes, and his stomach growled. Just when he was contemplating going downstairs to eat, he heard a crash.

"_Boy_!"

Heart racing with adrenaline, Draco launched out of bed and opened the door. Tip-toing as silently as he could, the blond spied from the top of the stairs.

Potter seemed to have dropped a ceramic cup on the kitchen floor. His uncle was staring down at him; face purpled in rage, fists clenched white at his sides.

"How many times do I have to tell you to be careful?!"

"I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon!" Potter exclaimed, head ducked. "But Dudley pushed me!"

"Stop making excuses! Dudley did no such thing!"

"Of course he wouldn't..." Potter muttered sarcastically.

Draco knew what was going to happen the exact same moment Potter did. The fat, older man lifted up a curled fist, and the impact of the hit seemed to echo.

The angle was all wrong, so Draco wasn't able to see how hurt Potter was, but he knew it must've been bad. The faint cracking of bone and glass hadn't come from just anywhere.

He stood on indecision. Did he want to cross that line, and help Potter? Did he want to see his, once enemy, in such a vulnerable position? Or, did he want to leave him there, disregarding his humiliating condition and pain?

Hearing the Gryffindor's uncle laugh in merriment, then watching him walk to the living room... Draco stood up and crept down the stairs.

Potter was leaning on the wall, nursing his nose and right-cheek, where the fist had hit him. They were covered up as he stood, walking towards the sink and taps.

The blond aristocrat cleared his throat arrogantly, arms crossed, hip popped at the side.

Potter spun around, and then narrowed his emerald eyes at the Slytherin. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he hissed.

Beckoning the git forward, Draco expected him to walk closer. Potter merely looked at him as if he were stupid, dark eyebrow arched incredulously. Draco sneered at the other the teen. Walking closer to him, he stopped when they were a foot apart. Draco stuck out a hand, and wrenched Potter's own from his face.

"Oi!" He snapped, trying to force his hand back. "Let go of me!"

"Shut up, you dunderhead!" Draco scolded, in his best impression of Professor Snape. The effect was instantaneous, and slightly more comedic than when he had last used it on Crabbe. Potter's eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped. Then he sputtered indignantly.

Draco took out his wand and pointed it at Potter's nose, which was at an odd angle. "_Episkey_!"

Potter blinked at Draco owlishly, and then tentatively touched his nose.

"_Tergeo_!"

Potter looked good as new, besides the bruise on his cheek.

The blond then turned on his heel and bent down to pick up Potter's ruddy pair of glasses. Standing straight, he tapped on the bridge, "_Oculus Reparo_."

A burst of smoke and red light came out of his hawthorn wand, and the spectacles reassembled. He walked swiftly towards the, still dumbfounded, Gryffindor, and shoved the glasses into his hands. Not wanting to deal with any sort of thanks, he sped out of the room, ran up the stairs, and then slammed the door behind him.

'Why did I do that?'

* * *

**Author's Note**:

Sorry for the late, and short, chapter. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed it!

* * *

**Acknowledgments**:

Thank you **ArrancarMaiden**, **kkate2006**, **midnightlover16**, and **asian2000lover** for the favorites!**  
**

Thank you **Alexa Moon**, **ranlynn**, **Chiizen**, **ailes du neige**, **midnightlover16**, **Tempete Sanguine**, **Pink Lemonade -aka- Bubblez**, **darknightstalker**, **the hotpocket hunter**, **angel-numbero-sept**, **asia2000lover** for the subscriptions!**  
**

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**Review Responses**:

**ArrancarMaiden**: Glad you enjoyed it! I, personally, feel bad for Draco xD He has to live with Muggles!

**Old Dobby fan**: I loved writing the commentary for the list of goodies! ^~^ Draco is so silly! And I'm glad you like it, so far!

**ailes du neige**: I try to make sure I update every Friday. If not, then as soon as possible after Friday xD Most fics I have read have Draco very close to canon! ^~^


	5. Swings

**Bond of Circumstance**

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**Warning(s)**: Cursing

**Beta**: CleopatraIsMyName

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**Bond Four**

**Swings**

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Several days later, Draco woke up after a night of restless dreams. To make matters worse, he was sweaty, and panting, and just feeling disgusting. Not only that, but he couldn't even remember what he had been dreaming about, just an icy, murky feeling.

Throwing the blankets off himself, he counted backwards in French, trying to wake up fully, before he slipped out of the suffocating room and took a, much needed, shower.

The teen stared up at the ceiling, and took to a familiar activity: wondering, once again, why he had acted the way he had, in the kitchen.

Malfoys didn't fix their enemy's noses.

Malfoys didn't fix their enemy's glasses.

Malfoys _certainly_ didn't act as if they cared.

And Malfoys shouldn't _ever_ flee in embarrassment.

But, of course, Draco had done his _very best_ to break those simple behavioural rules. He could just imagine his father now, looking down at him with thinly-veiled disappointment lurking beneath his darker, grey eyes.

"_What have I told you about behaving in such a way that best befits a Malfoy, Draco? No wonder the Mudblood is able to best you in as simple a thing as grades."_

Those lectures and comments always left Draco with a bad taste in his mouth, and self-hatred gnawing at his chest. Malfoys don't cry, so… even if there was a peculiar tightening of his throat, and a burning behind his eyes, he never paid any heed to it.

Turning on to his side, the blond shook those morbid thoughts from his mind. It wouldn't do to dwell on the past; after all, Draco had done his very best, avoiding Potter at all costs. It never ceased to help that the other teen was always doing something for those despicable Muggles.

His thoughts quickly turned to his unkempt state, and the blond decided he'd had enough of feeling sweaty. He hopped out of the bed and gathered up his toiletries, tip-toeing out of the room. The snores of several Erumpents filled his ears, but he didn't bother trying to Silence the doors; for some reason, whenever he did so, the Charms broke. He simply shrugged and guessed it was because of how powerful the sounds were.

After the teen had entered the loo and had taken a very luxurious, not to mention _long_, shower, he headed back towards his temporary room to change into more appropriate clothes. Ones that weren't just a night shirt and boxers.

However, when he turned towards the room, he heard a scream, though muffled, fill the hallway. Turning his head, the blond found that, to his confusion, the pain-filled shriek was coming from the vicinity of Potter's own room.

Draco hesitated, torn between going back to his room to dress properly, or to see what was going on with the annoying bugger _now_.

When he heard a sob come from inside the room, he groaned at his cruel fate. What had he done to deserve such a downright miserable summer?

Bracing himself, Draco entered Potter's room and… paused.

It was extraordinarily small; in fact, the guest room was _easily_ double the size of the room alone. It was messy, with clothes and things strewn throughout the place. A small dresser stood next to Potter's bed, though it looked incredibly worn. Potter's owl's cage was in a corner near the windows, and the snowy-white bird had its head tucked underneath a wing.

The bed, itself, looked uncomfortable for the average twelve-year old, not to mention a fourteen-year old teenage boy. But there was Potter, clutching onto his sheets for dear-life, flat on his back, body twisting this way and that under and above the covers

Draco walked closer, slightly alarmed at the sweat dripping off his brow as he turned his face to the side, a whimper slipping out of his lips.

The blond felt totally out of his element. When his father had finally deemed to speak to Draco, at seven years of age… Well, he probably had a better grasp on emotions than he did now. The Malfoy Family Tutelage wasn't much of anything except for Pureblood Traditions, Rules of the Malfoys by Which the Heir Must Abide, et cetera.

So, being in a situation where he had to try and comfort someone made him more than slightly uncomfortable. Even now, Draco felt like hiding back underneath the musky-sheets of this Muggle home and forgetting he had ever seen the Boy-Who-Lived in such a vulnerable state.

Gritting his teeth, Draco placed a tentative hand over the raven-haired teen's shoulder and lightly shook him.

When that didn't rouse him, by any means, he put more force in the shake and grumbled, "Potter, wake up."

A vein in Draco's head was about to explode, due to how pissed off and uncomfortable the blond felt. Taking a deep breath, he continued his light shakes, until he snapped and just screamed, "Potter, you miserable excuse of a Saviour, _wake the fuck up_!"

Potter automatically launched up and hit Draco's jaw. As shocked as the blond was, he felt tears of pain lurk at the corners of his eyes, and slapped the other boy's head.

"Ow!" Potter grunted, rubbing at the back of his sleep-dishevelled raven hair. He widened his emerald-eyes in bewilderment when he saw the blond Slytherin standing over his bed, jaw clutched in two hands. "What're you doing here, Malfoy?"

"Not getting thanked for my graciously given services," the teen grumbled, rubbing his jaw. He could taste the copper tang of blood on his tongue, and felt like striking the other boy again.

"What services? What are you even doing in my room?"

"I heard your pathetic arse screaming and crying from the hallway, and decided to wake you up. If I had known you would launch up like some sort of Muggle-spring, then I would've turned around to my room and let you suffer."

Potter stared at Draco, and then slowly nodded. "Thank you, Malfoy."

"Don't thank me. It's not my fault you're a barmy git."

"How come you always have the infuriating ability to do something helpful, and then make it nearly worthless with a simple sentence?"

"Well, nobody said Malfoys were good company, now did they?"

To Draco's consternation, Potter threw his head back and chuckled heartily.

"What's so funny?" he asked, mouth down-turned in a frown at the audacity of the bloody Gryffindor. When no answer seemed forthcoming, Draco turned around and made his way to the door.

"Wait, Malfoy," Potter said, scrambling out of his bed. He fell out on the floor of the room in an ungraceful heap, but sprung back up in order to grab hold of the other wizard's arm.

Draco shook his arm out of Potter's grasp and waited, brow arched in question.

Potter cleared his throat, fringe covering his eyes and grumbled, "I noticed you staring."

Draco grew alarmed and sputtered, "Excuse me?"

"At the garden," Potter answered, brows furrowed in determination, as if he hadn't heard Draco's defensive exclamation. "I just wanted to let you know that I can always tell you about the different types that I grow."

Draco shook his head, "No thank you, Potter. I'm fine just observing."

And it had been sort of a lie. Draco didn't want to learn from _Potter_, but he wasn't necessarily just fine with _observing_. Muggles had the most boring lives, and the flaxen-haired aristocrat felt as if he was going to explode from just walking around, reading through his old textbooks, checking through his homework, and it even made him want to yawn just contemplating it.

It continued on for a few more moments, Potter trying to convince Draco to _just go out and do something besides study_. This ended with a near argument, when Potter had had the nerve to even compare him to the Mudblood Granger. As if Draco would even stoop to her level, and he huffed.

"Fine, you insufferable prat."

Potter smiled smugly, and Draco felt the over-compelling urge to wipe the expression off of his face. Preferably with a fist. Yes, violence could be the answer for _some things_, especially when it was in response to something the Prat-Who-Loved said, or done. Bloody hell, his mere presence caused Draco to resort to Muggle violence.

When Draco finally left Potter's room a few minutes later, he felt the full weight of the next month take hold of him. Leaning back against the door, he sighed and went over his calming exercises.

Once he felt better able to control his emotions, the blond strode over to the guest room and rummaged through his clothes trunk for some decent attire for the current weather. After picking out a reasonably baggy outfit – unlike the terrible clothing that Potter felt the need to wear everywhere – he walked out of the house.

The neighbourhood was reasonably quiet, and Draco _reluctantly_ decided he could jog around for hours, as long as the Muggles didn't decide to come out with their machines and make noise.

He found himself at the familiar structure of the playground, and seated himself in one of the swings, kicking off.

The wind beat against his sweat-slick cheeks, and he enjoyed the contrast between the cool air and his heated body. He was broken out of his activity when an irritatingly familiar voice said, "So, even a Malfoy can enjoy Muggle swings, huh?"

Snapping his head to the side, Draco scowled at Potter. The git was leaning against the side of one of the slides, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Go away, Potty," he sniffed, unhappy to see that he had lost his momentum due to the Gryffindor's arrival. Kicking off again, he resumed his previous task.

The sound of a chain clicking had Draco pausing again, turning to look at the source of the noise. Potter was just to his side, and he seemed to be withholding laughter.

"What?"

"Nothing," the teen said, with a note of strain in his voice. Draco could only wonder why he was suppressing so much laughter.

"Potter," he snapped, an eye brow arched in annoyance.

"It's just… seeing you on a swing is just… odd."

"Odd?"

Potter nodded his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. He brushed his fringe away with a nonchalant hand.

"And you came out here, disturbed my peaceful swing, and laughed because it was odd?"

He bobbed his head again.

"I swear to _Salazar Slytherin himself_, Potter, that if I wasn't on the opposite side of the Dark Lord, I would smash your face into one of those pole-things."

Potter eyed him for a second, and then stood up silently. Draco grew slightly nervous and said, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"If you say, 'Nothing,' again, I will _not_ be held responsible for my actions."

"_Relax_, Malfoy."

That's when Draco felt warm pressure on his back, and was pushed forward. He instinctively held the chains steady, grip tight, and pushed down on the ground.

"Stop!"

"Malfoy, stop pushing back!"

"I'm not up for your games, Potter!"

"Shut up and _calm the fuck down_!"

Draco grunted in frustration, relaxing his feet. "Fine, but if I get hurt…"

"You won't just as long as you trust me, even the slightest bit."

And Potter was just so annoying that Draco _had_ to do it, if only to get the prat to just _shut up_. He was _definitely_ not doing it because the bloke sounded sad.

Nodding his head, Draco gulped rather thickly as he felt the pressure on his back return. Funnily, he felt dizziness in his head, one he didn't recognize. Once Potter pushed, Draco held onto the swing chains with a steel-grip, and then quickly realised he was going up higher than he originally was.

Breathing in deeply and letting it out, Draco was bewildered to find that he was completely relaxed. Giving up the control of the swing, he allowed his head to fall back a bit and enjoyed the cool breeze on his skin.

And he went higher and _higher_, and then it suddenly stopped.

Draco looked back, and saw Potter's pudgy cousin sneering at them.

"What do you want, Dudley?" Potter asked boredly.

"Mum and Dad want you to go and make breakfast. Now."

Potter grumbled under his breath and ran a hand through his hair in frustration, "Fine."

"So, Cedric's not your boyfriend?" the Muggle asked, smirking maliciously.

"_Shut up, Dudley_."

"Whatever," Dursley shrugged, walking off with his enormous hands shoved in his pockets. Potter was too busy cursing under his breath to realise that Draco had heard the entire conversation.

But, funnily enough, Draco couldn't bring himself to say anything about the information that had just been slipped to him. He could remember the waves of power that had crushed around him, and the rapid beat of his heart as Potter's emerald eyes glowed a lighter shade. He shuddered slightly at the memory, and jumped off of the swing.

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**Author's Note**:

Gais, look, a new chapter! O_O

I am _so_ sorry about my lack of updates, especially where Bond is concerned, but I started my first year of high school a month ago, and it has just been hectic making sure I turn in my homework. Urgh. I only had time, and it was still _very_ limited, for Quidditch and drabbles. D; I managed to update Dragon, though, which was nice.

I won't be able to promise weekly updates anymore, but at least I'm posting, right? xD

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**Acknowledgments**:

Thank you **AFLlover**, **Padfootette, eloisemaexox, Natalya Arlovskaya,** and **daydreamerflyingfree96** for favoriting :D

Thank you **Kate518, voicelessliar, Padfootette, XxXOrganizedChaosXxX, gunsnroses007 nj,** **eloisemaexox, kymickeyfan717, Zanthia2, Natalya** **Arlovskaya**, **samc31,** and **daydreamerflyingfree96** for subscribing :P

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**Review Responses**:

******daydreamerflyingfree96**: I'm soooo glad you enjoyed this story :D Draco is bored as hell :P

**Guest**: And I am writing to inform _you_, my dear reader, that I am _very _sorry about the updates. I made that promise during the summer, where I did practically nothing every day, and it's hard to juggle excessive school work and my beloved hobbies. I _will_ try and update faster, but as I have said in my author's note, I cannot promise them that often. I recommend getting an account, though, so that you can badger me for updates, and not have to check every Friday. It'll do me a lot of good, since I had a few hundred words written up, but still hadn't finished it when you reviewed.


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